


Fate (And Other Uncontrollable Things)

by ourdancingdays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, London, M/M, Marauders' Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdancingdays/pseuds/ourdancingdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason, Remus, the talented, eccentric, heart-transplant patient, thinks he can save them. Lily. James. Peter. Sirius. Everyone. But fate's not finished with him yet, and your usual romance just won't cut it. / hospital au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my part-time beta, Paula. She picks up on all the horrid typos that make me squint and shiver in horror. Thank you!
> 
> Honestly, I was bullied into posting this by a few Wolfstar-fanatics of mine - it'll span about 10 chapters, and I promise, a plot line will become evident, soon, and questions will be answered. Eventually. Feedback is much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!

This was not what Sirius Orion Black had intended when he woke up at five o'clock two weeks ago, his neck aching from the awkward angle and his right foot slowly falling back to sleep. In fact, it wasn't what Sirius had intended  _at all;_ ever.

Nevertheless, here he was, at half past nine at night, the last hour of what had been the most hectic week of his life, leaning over a bed with his hands shaking.

"We need a crash cart over here!" He shouted out to no one, and nurses filtered into the small area of the public hospital, placing orange pads on the patient's chest.

"Charge to 200!" he shouted at a nearby nurse, pushing the pads down on the chest of the patient in the bed. He felt like a bad actor in some bad hospital drama, or a little kid playing doctors and nurses in the playground. "Fuck!" He swore, when the person still didn't respond. "Charge again!"

"Dr Black," Nurse Meadowes, or Dorcas as she was more commonly known, said soothingly from the sidelines, resting her hand on his shoulder, "there's nothing left. He's gone."

" _No!_ One last try. Charge again!"

This was his last hope, his last shot to be a family, to have a future. This had to work.

"Sirius! For God's sake, stop! You can't do anything else! This  _isn't helping!_ Let him go!" Dorcas snapped, pulling him back.

"One last chance," Sirius whispered, nodding at the nurse, and waiting for the shock to run through the crash machine, and into the heart of his patient. "Charge!"

* * *

 

" _Good morning! You're listening to Bethany and Matt on BBC Radio 1. It's five o'clock, and here is Lee DeWyze with the song, 'Sweet Serendipity'. Tune in in half an hour to discover-"_

Sirius groaned dramatically, and hit the radio with a flailing arm. He blinked wearily and glared at the curtains, where he expected the non-existent sunlight to be. Then he realised it was, in fact, five AM, and there wasn't even a slim chance that the sun would be up.

Great. He was up before a gigantic ball of gas. Just perfect.

"An  _hour,"_ Sirius groaned to himself, hopping round his room as he tugged on a stray sock that probably didn't match his other one. "One fucking hour til my shift. I'm such an idiot!"

Seeing as the room was empty, there was no one there to heartily agree with him.

Rushing round his small, apartment flat - the only thing he could afford with his F2's wages and F2's hours - Sirius brushed his teeth frantically as he searched for the keys that never, ever seemed to be where he left them.

"Sixteen hour shift," he grumbled, slipping one arm awkwardly into his leather jacket that was, as he was constantly reminded, inappropriate for work. "Stupid, ingrained politeness."

He was half way out the door before he realised he was still wearing slippers over his mismatched socks.

"I'm  _so_ going to be late. Minnie's gonna kill me."

The head consultant on A&E, Minerva McGonagall, was a prim, stern-faced woman who took delight in belittling Sirius and making up feel like he was a little boy straight back in boarding school rather than a trained medical professional at St. Mungo's hospital, Oxford Street, London.

Of course, when she had had a glass of wine, Minerva was the life and soul of the ward parties.

Sirius tumbled out of his flat, momentarily forgetting to lock the door, and had to jog back up the stairs, two steps at a time. He swore under his breath, and revved his motorbike, praying that there wouldn't be any major disasters.

By now, you would've thought he would've learnt not to jinx things so early in the morning.

Streaming through the traffic, checking his watch at every red light, Sirius almost didn't notice when his phone sounded and vibrated against his jean pocket.

"Christ," he said, pulling over to the side of the road, letting a few horns beep at him as they pulled away, and granting them his middle finger in the process. He held the iPhone to his ear (a gift from the overbearing leeches he reluctantly called a family) and hastily pressed the green button.

"- _goddammit, Black, answer the goddamn phone! Ah -_ finally!  _I've been trying for hours, Black-"_

"Minnie, darling," Sirius drawled into the receiver, "I picked up on the second ring."

" _The second ring isn't the first ring, now is it, Black? Look, where are you?"_

"I'm just heading up Charing Cross," he replied, looking up at the sign above him. "Should be at Tottenham Court Road in a few minutes."

" _A few minutes_ ," Minerva repeated in a monotone, sounding as though this was the worst answer he could possible give. " _A few minutes isn't good enough,_ Dr _Black. We've got an emergency here - big car pileup on the M6, complete carnage, happened a few hours ago. We're scraping up as many staff as possible; we've already had to move five patients to Durmstrang's, and you know how I hate Durmstrang's."_

"How many so far?"

" _At least twenty. Two deaths. We've got a pregnant victim being treated in here because there's no room in maternity, we've got a man who's this far away from being paralysed, a heart transplant patient with blood clots from here to New Jersey and one who's hyperventilating and attacking the staff. We need you here ASAP, Black!"_

Sirius unzipped his leather jacket.

"I'm on my way, Minerva." Because if he loved nothing else, he loved his job, and he had a duty to those people. He just wished that his duty could start at a normal time of day.

* * *

 

"Alright, alright, let me through!" Sirius yelled, but the room bustled around him, completely ignoring the little stethoscope around his neck - one that his friend got him as a joke for his twelfth birthday and that he had never gone a shift without. "OI!"

The room, more or less, fell silent.

"I am a  _doctor_ here, and unless you want an invite to at least five funerals in the next fortnight, courtesy of  _moi,_ then I'd advise MOVING!" He pushed through them all, and somehow managed to power through A&E and into the elevator.

Dear God, Minerva was going to  _skin_ him.

"You're incorrigible, Black. Why do we put up with you again?"

Talk of the devil.

Sirius turned around in the elevator and found Minerva McGonagall staring up at him from the corner. He gulped, and thanked any random deity that their ward was only on the first floor.

"Minnie, dearest! Oh, that hairpin looks fabulous on you! Are those shoes teal? I do love a bit of teal. Is it blue? Is it green? Such excitement! Now, hope you don't mind, I  _may_ have left Bessie round the back, you know, where ambulances park, but I'm pretty sure it's not against regulations. Maybe."

"Dear God, Black, if you weren't such a competent doctor I would..."

Minerva straightened her suit jacket, primed her slicked-back bun and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from her shoulder.

"You've got four priority patients Black -  _don't_ argue with me - all from the crash. You're the main doctor for your area, because basically every resident and consultant is in surgery. All other minor operations have been moved back,  _with_ consent, and basically everything down on A&E has been put on hold.

"We have at least fifteen crying children with various broken appendages, one girl with a melting M&M up her nose, and seventeen uncritical injuries that are taking up ward space. But they are  _not_ your priority. Do you understand?"

"Just a normal day then, Minnie. You  _do_ realise it's only six AM, right?"

"Six oh three, actually, which means you're late. But we'll take double that off your break time -  _do not_ argue. It's a bloody zoo around here, Sirius, and I need you  _on the ball,"_ she growled, and she stepping out of the elevator, motioning to the cluttered, and now noisy, room.

The air hummed with the kind of frantic, chaotic magic that Sirius revelled in. It was thick with panic and worry and hopefulness, and reminded him of vinegar.

"Lead the way, then." He motioned to the first bed, where a pregnant, red-headed twenty-something year old woman sat with her arms crossed, one of them wrapped up in a sling. Minerva gave him a harsh glare, then retreated back a few steps to watch him.

"Oh. Goody. A doctor. I had the impression that those were rare in places like, say,  _hospitals,"_ she growled. She was still in a cream-coloured dress rather than a hospital gown, and a trail of dried blood ran down the side of her face.

Sirius picked up her notes with a shiver.

_Lily K. Evans. Twenty-three. Pregnant. Lives with her next of kin, Mary McDonald, listed as friend but most likely semi-guardian, by the age difference... All other family deceased or unknown, blood type A Negative, etcetera..._

"I'm Dr Black, and, with your consent, I'll be the resident treating you today. Now, Ms... Evans. You're four months pregnant, with a head injury, a broken arm, and possible damage to the ligaments in your right leg."

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"Actually, I  _didn't_ know any of that information, thank you very much. Pregnant, you say? Please, tell me more." She stared at Sirius steadily, her arms still crossed. "And for god's sake, call me Lily.  _Ms Evans_ makes me sound like a middle aged woman with Thursday afternoon book clubs, bridge games and a crush on the pool boy."

"Well then, Lily, I insist you call me Sirius. And I can assure you that you definitely aren't middle aged, though you  _are_ pregnant," Sirius joked with a smile. Lily gave a reluctant one back, and fluffed up her pillows. "I want to take you for a few tests, mainly for your head and the baby."

"Of course," she said shortly. She ran a hand over her stomach lightly, her eyebrows slowly knitting together. "Will... will we be okay?"

"Of that I have no doubt," he replied charmingly. His smile fell. "Do you have any family that I can contact? Just to make sure that you're not here alone..."

"No. No family. Knocked up twenty-something, remember?" Lily scowled at him and sank lower on the bed, her boots clunking against the metal frame. She made quite a sight.

"Not the... father?" Sirius was always careful in asking this question. Women seemed to get overly protective of their maternal skills when mentioning a father, proclaiming that they didn't  _need_ men to rule their lives. Of course, Sirius was just thinking that men were needed in a biological point of view, but they always took it the wrong way.

"Not present and certainly not accounted for. Bloody egotistical bastard." He stared at her. "Well, the baby can't hear me, can she?"

"She?" Sirius repeated, looking down at his notes. The baby was  _definitely_ male.

"Well, I can't know for sure. But I'm quite certain. Or hopeful. Doesn't matter much to me either way, whether it's a boy or a girl; just a simple pronoun 'til they come out with a pink or blue blanket, right?"

"Right." He laughed inside his head. That baby - he - was definitely going to be a chip off the ol' block. And Sirius  _definitely_  didn't want to be there for the labour.

He turned to one of the nurses measuring out a container of - well, Sirius didn't want to ask what. "Nurse Meadowes, can I get the regulars, plus an MRI, just to be on the safe side. We need a baby scan, too, and don't forget regular checkups. Thank you so much."

The nurse, only about thirty-five and complete with a beaming smile, nodded and trotted away, waving to an elderly gentlemen wearing a green bowler hat and not much else.

"Move that arm or leg, Lily, and I'm making sure that your hospital gown will magically shrink in the wash and all others will surprisingly vanish," Sirius told her mock-sternly, and Lily nodded, smiling. "Right we are. Onwards, my dear Minnie!"

"That's  _Dr McGonagall_ to you, Black. And I'd prefer it if you were a bit more professional with your patients. Now, we've got beds nine, eleven and thirteen left. Think you can count up to that high a number by yourself?"

"I got through med school, didn't I?" Sirius grumbled, half to himself as Minerva trotted away to skin another poor F1 who had just knocked over an IV drip.

"Ah, and you must be Mr Pettigrew!" He smiled to the man physically chained to the bed, picking up his chart with an interested look. "Sir, if you calm down, we can get security to undo the ties around your wrists and ankles."

"I don't understand what's happening!" The man squeaked. He actually looked younger up close - at a distance, Sirius would've guessed he was early to mid thirties, but he was probably about the same age as Sirius.

He checked the notes and nodded -  _Peter A. Pettigrew. Twenty-two._   _Post traumatic stress disorder. History of mental illness. Possible head injury, cracked ribs, kidney damage... Lives alone, next of kin is mother, blood type O Positive, blah, blah, blah..._

"Now, Mr Pettigrew. What do you do?"

"Excuse me?" The man asked, stopping his struggling.

"What do you do, as a job? I'm sure it's quite exciting."

"I - well - I work in photography, actually. I was driving my new camera to Yorkshire when - bam! This happened. Probably smashed to pieces right now, but the paramedics wouldn't let me check the wreckage for it at all. Cost a bloody fortune, and you honestly don't know how many wedding pictures I took to save up for it, too!"

"Well, Peter - do you mind if I call you Peter? - I'm sure I can get the police to look for it for you. If not, I'm sure you can claim on your insurance. The accident wasn't your fault, after all."

Sirius placed the clipboard back on its holder and walked up to the side of the bed.

"I'd prefer Pete," the small man said timidly, relaxing against the constraints.

"We're going to take good care of you, Pete. Your injuries are minor, compared to some, and the surgery you'll need is routine. We have some of the best doctors in the country on site, I can assure you, and that's me being modest," Sirius reassured him, patting his arm gently, and gaining confidence when the man didn't flinch. "Now, can you not bite our nursing staff? Then we can get to work and get you back in top form again."

Peter nodded sullenly, and slowly turned an unflattering maroon colour. "I  _am_ sorry, Doctor. I'll behave better, I promise."

"Please. Call me Sirius. Now, let's see if we can't get rid of these straps and take some tests, yes?" He nodded at the security guards who hovered nearby, then turned to Nurse Meadowes, who had miraculously arrived on the scene again.

"Let me guess... Regulars, X-ray, cat scan..."

"Wonderful as ever, Nurse Meadowes," Sirius told her with a smile. She scuttled away with a nervous smile. "Now, Pete, I want you to press the button if you feel  _any_ discomfort, okay? I'll make sure our nurses are here straight away, and let's see if we can't fix those ribs."

Right. Now - bed eleven. Oh, how he hated bed eleven. It was tragically known for being the bed that no one healed in. Bed thirteen was for the ones with not much left in them; usually elderly, usually only at the hospital for the food and the company rather than to be cured. Bed nine was for the slightly harder, but treatable, ones.

But bed eleven was a bed no one liked to visit.

"Ah. Mr Potter. We meet again."

"Do we?"

James Potter had unruly, black hair, wire framed glasses and a constant grin. He, like Ms Lily Evans, had so far refused to change into the classic hospital gown.

"Well, no, but it sounds more dramatic that way!" Sirius laughed as he looked down at his notes. His smile faltered.

_James H. Potter. Twenty-one. Diagnosed ADHD. Severe damage to base of spinal cord. Most likely confined to a wheelchair, possible movement achieved with intense physical therapy. Next of kin: unlisted. Blood type: B Negative. Dr Black's diagnosis: goner._

"What's your name, then? Bet it's something posh. Like Reginald. Please tell me it's Reginald," Mr Potter pleaded, pressing his hands together and pointing them to the sky in a mock prayer.

"Sirius, actually. Sirius Black."

"The name's Potter. James Potter," Mr Potter said with a smile. "And call me James, not  _Mr Potter;_ it reminds me of my dad. God knows, I loved him, but come on; my hair isn't receding yet." He pulled on the mess of curls - definitely not receding.

"Alright, James. Not Jamie?"

"Jamie. Too pedestrian. Boring. I have an S in my name and I intend to use it." James winked and leant back against his pillows.

"I'm guessing you want the truth," Sirius said bluntly.

James's smile didn't slip.

"Just tell it to me straight, Doc. I've got it coming, haven't I? Now that you mention it, I thought my night light was looking a little bright. And coming nearer. And that  _is_ a white lab coat, am I right? Do you have wings?"

"James," Sirius warned him slowly. "There's been severe damage to the base of your spine. It's... irreparable. We can try our best, try and realign it, but it'll be tricky. A lot of risky surgery. And there's no guarantee that it'll work, or that you'll be alive to see it if it does."

He glanced down at the wheelchair next to his bed.

"There's wheelchair basketball, right?" He didn't look up at Sirius.

"I'm sorry?" Sirius asked, taking a step forward. James fiddled slightly with the hospital-white blankets and breathed in deeply. Sirius knew that smell off by heart - antiseptics and antibiotics and sterilizer mixed with blood, sweat, tears and vinegar.

"I'm a football player - chances of getting into the professional league, you know. I was in the under-16 team for Arsenal, back in the day, and they've signed me up for the reserve team.

"It was always a dream of my Dad's more than mine; hated it as a kid, in fact. But I really got into it in secondary school, and when I was accepted with a chance to do my degree too... I couldn't resist. Don't suppose my dad can complain now, though. He's always pushed me, but I don't even know if I can get a wheelchair onto the football pitch."

"I'm so sorry, James," Sirius told him and James tapped a rhythm on the arm of his new, hospital-issued wheelchair. Finally, he glanced up, and smiled.

"Not your fault, mate. And as I said, there's always wheelchair basketball."

"There's still a chance..." Sirius looked down at the ground, and he patted James on the shoulder. "Well, you know the drill. You'll be able to use the wheelchair soon, but we'll wait for everything to settle before we try it. I'll check up on you later, okay? Your vitals are good, but we'll run a few X-rays..." He sighed. "There's always a chance, alright? I'm a doctor and I've seen miracles."

"I'm a footballer and I've seen West Ham crawl back into the premier league," James joked, but his smile was softer, and his hands were shaking. "Cheers, Sirius."

"We'll get there."

Sirius smiled, and moved over to the next bed. He took a deep breath, and pulled back the curtain.

His smile fell.

"Mr..." He looked down at his notes, swallowing loudly and flicking the papers with shaking fingers. The man in the bed looked like a ghost. His skin was pale, there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his fingers shook where they clutched at his hospital gown. "Mr Lupin."

"Hello," Mr Lupin greeted him mildly, sitting up straighter. "I'm guessing my hair colour isn't as grey as you'd imagine?"

"I'm sorry?" Sirius said again, and inwardly, he cursed himself. He had to start listening to people - or borrow someone's common sense.

"Rumour has it that this bed is usually for the - erm - older patients. Or just patients with a death wish." He looked down at his body. "Well, I don't ride motorcycles through rings of fire, or anything like that. Though my heart seems to think I do."

_Remus J. Lupin. Twenty-two. Heart transplant patient. Minor injuries from car crash, most likely on the way to St. Mungo's anyway. Lives alone, brother listed as next of kin. Blood type: A positive. First on heart-transplant list, been waiting since the age of seventeen._

_...Shit,_ Sirius thought.

"Well, the good news is that you're the top of our list, Mr Lupin - Remus. We should be able to operate by tomorrow, at the latest. You're very lucky."

"I've waited a long time for this, Doctor-" He leant forward, peering at Sirius' identification badge. "-Black.  _Sirius."_ Remus stressed the name with a smile.

"You have indeed," Sirius said faintly.

"Will you be doing the operation?" Remus asked, drumming a catchy beat on his bed. He looked healthy for the conversation; his smile was lighter, his eyes brighter. He'd come to life right in front of Sirius, all for a few words and dry jokes.

"No, unfortunately I won't be," he reassured him, pointing again to his badge, "I'm only an F2. No heart transplants for me yet, though I might see if I can scrub in."

"I don't understand how you can be a doctor. Meeting people, treating people; saving them  _and_  watching them die. It's all rather... maudlin," Remus told him thoughtfully.

"Maudlin's the word," Sirius said with an uneasy smile. "Are you sure you understand all about the procedure...? The risks, the-"

"I've been waiting for this for five years, Doctor Black. I've done my research."

"I'm sure you have. Just have to please admin." Sirius shuffled his notes noisily, trying not to let the patient see how much he affected him. In less than twenty-four hours, he'd be going in for risky, potentially-life saving heart surgery, and he was making jokes on his deathbed.

"Ah, Mr Lupin!" A voice trilled from behind him. Sirius whipped around to see Minerva, teal shoes and all, grinning like a tiger behind him.

He gulped.

"And how'd our favourite transplant doing?" Minerva asked Remus, who gave a brief smile in return. "Mr Lupin is a frequent visitor, though usually to the Gryffindor ward - definitely not us and definitely not A&E," she added to Sirius.

"That's right, Dr McGonagall. I can't get enough of the place. Must be the Jell-O," Remus said drily with a charming, fake grin that stretched across his face.

"Isn't it time for your break, Dr Black? If you've done your rounds, that is." Minerva cast a sideways look at James, who was shamelessly attempting to chat up Lily two beds down.

"Right." Sirius glanced at Remus. "If there's anything you need..." Remus gave him a wry grin, and waved his now-shaking hand. "Well. Good day, Minnie!"

He ran before she could insult him further.


	2. 1984

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks: Once again, thank you so much to my fabulous beta, Paula, who has taken the time to correct my god awful typos. Thank you, dear!
> 
> And if you've stuck around for chapter 2, I wanted to say thank you so much for all of your lovely comments on the previous chapter. I promise there will be more romance of the Wolfstar and Jily variety soon! As always, feedback is much appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!

Sirius leant against the coffee counter. He gave the waitress a tired, but charming, smile, and she bustled to fill his order - latte, two sugars, and half a chocolate chip muffin. Looking around the staff cafeteria, he almost wondered why it was so busy. A&E was in tatters (Minerva's hair had even begun to come out of her bun) and yet everyone seemed to be nervously chatting away over a ham sandwich and the soup of the day.

He sighed.

Sirius thanked the waitress, and took the coffee cup, which was probably polystyrene and probably not recyclable. He sipped it and grimaced; something about this particular brand of Hospital Cafeteria Coffee was always different that the regular.

He thought about his patients still in the ward upstairs; Lily would be an easy case with a few of their specification pain killers, as long as the leg didn't give her too much trouble. She'd be on her feet by the afternoon. Peter would need some, um, mental assistance, but a good, pay-hourly psychiatrist would probably cure that.

James and Remus on the other hand...

Sirius took a bite of his muffin, still deep in thought.

"Jesus!"

He stepped back almost immediately; a man had seemed to jump out of nowhere and now his burning, Hospital Cafeteria Coffee was dripping through his fingers and onto the floor.

"I am so sorry; I honestly wasn't looking where I was going - unsteady on the legs, you see, and - Sirius?" The man babbled, but when Sirius looked up, he saw the gaunt, apologetic face of Remus beaming down at him. He smiled back.

"It was probably my fault, I wasn't exactly paying attention either," Sirius reassured him, shaking the liquid from his hand. He hissed, but he knew the burn wouldn't be bad; and he had seen his fair share of burns.

"I can buy you another coffee, if you'd like? I can just get my bag and-"

"Wait," Sirius cut him off. He scrunched his eyebrows together, studying the patient. He was still in his robe and - shoes? "Shouldn't you be resting? Right, I'm getting you back to bed. You really shouldn't run off, Min- Dr. McGonagall will have both our heads." He hurried him towards the elevators, making sure to keep a tight grip on the man's wrist in case he suddenly struggled to stand. "Don't worry about the coffee, by the way. Not the best I've tasted by a long shot."

"Hospital Cafeteria Coffee," Remus commented wisely, looking down briefly at Sirius' hand on his wrist. "I didn't mean to plot my great escape, I just needed some air. Can't stand hospitals."

"... Yeah," Sirius agreed unsurely. "Are you sure you're alright? About the operation?"

"I've accepted my fate, if you will," he assured him.

"That's quite a negative outlook," he wondered aloud, pushing the up button again and sighing.

"Is it?" Remus asked. There was a ding, and the metal doors opened. An elderly couple, a young nurse, and a tall man all hurried out, almost knocking over Remus as they did so. Sirius scowled after them. "I wouldn't say so."

"It sounds as though you don't believe we can make our own destiny," Sirius muttered. He was a firm believer that everyone had their own lives; there wasn't a "higher power", whether it was a God, karma, or Santa Claus. Chosen paths seemed a little farfetched for him; he barely knew what bus to get on.

"Not quite," he mused, "but kind of. I like to think some things are set in stone, such as meeting people and - well, accidents like car crashes." They shared a wry smile. "Other than that, we're probably on our own."

The elevator chimed, and the doors reopened to reveal the stressed, pinched face of Minerva McGonagall.

"And just where did you run off to, young man?" She snapped at Remus, striding off to bed thirteen, and standing with her arms crossed by the side of it. She raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Minerva," Sirius warned her. She tended to get a little over-zealous at times, and was extremely protective of her patients, especially the ones due for surgery. She was rather like a mother tigress. Who occasionally liked to eat her young for breakfast.

"I just went out to get some fresh air, Dr. McGonagall," Remus told her with a chuckle. If anything, her expression became fiercer. "I took the necessary precautions - I even snagged a young doctor to help me back."

He winked in Sirius' direction; Sirius blinked.

"Look, I'm all in one piece - four limbs, ten fingers, ten toes... Although I did drop my spleen on the way here..."

"This is no time for jokes, Mr Lupin! I expected better, honestly. Your surgery is very technical and precise, and we do not want any complications once we're in theatre. Clear?" Remus saluted her. "Dr. Black, a word please."

She closed the curtains around Remus' bed - again - and turned to face him.

"And just what have I told you about letting patients wonder round the hospital? It's dangerous for both them and the staff; what if something had happened? What if - are you eating a muffin?"

Sirius looked down at his half finished muffin, and swallowed the chocolate chip he had been sucking on.

"I was called away from my break," he explained, rather unnecessarily. At Minerva's glare, he sighed and wrapped his muffin back up and put it in his jacket pocket. "Yeah, yeah, I know; no food on the wards..."

"I expect a full report on Mr Lupin by lunchtime. Are we clear? That's all the tests, MRI, cat scan if you have to. I want those lab results as soon as possible. No excuses." She trotted away before Sirius could even begin to argue.

Sometimes, he almost wished he worked for his family. Sirius shivered at that thought; maybe not, then.

Sirius pulled back the curtains to find Remus tucked up in bed with a book - 1984. He grinned.

"Fellow George Orwell fan?" He asked, leaning over to check his IV drip. He nodded, satisfied, and turned back to his patient. It seemed as though Remus had dog eared a good number of the pages, and he even recognised a doodle in the top right corner of page 159.

"That man is a god, I tell you," Remus replied, smirking as he folded back the corner of that page as well. He got a pen from the chest of drawers beside him, and wrote something in the margin.

"What are you writing?"

"Well, you know how most people keep a journal?" Sirius nodded. He held the paperback aloft. "My version."

"You do realise that... that's like drawing a moustache on the Mona Lisa," Sirius told him, scandalized. Remus' laugh rang out across the ward.

"Maybe so. It's not a first edition though, so don't worry - and I just wrote lion on the side. Nothing blasphemous."

"Why lion?" He asked, honestly curious now, sitting down on the side of the bed. He was still waiting for the test results back from the lab for his other patients, and he knew that Dorcas could handle it until he got there. "Because this isn't a veterinary hospital yet. I keep trying to convince Minnie, but... no luck yet."

"It's for Dr. McGonagall," Remus whispered, with a glance at the nurse's station where Minerva was standing. "She kind of reminds me of a lioness. Protecting her pride and all that."

"Really? I thought she was more like a tigress; you know, eating her young if they're not fit enough."

Remus sniggered again, sounding healthier every time he did. His face no longer looked gaunt, or grey; he looked almost normal, and that most definitely wasn't normal for a patient ill enough to be waiting five years for a heart.

"Cruel, Sirius. Cruel," he said between shakes of his shoulders.

"It's the build up of sexual tension," Sirius told him mysteriously, but his grin betrayed him. "Poor Minnie, she does love her one night stands, but they're never fulfilling enough." He shook his head.

Remus shivered dramatically. "I did not need those mental images. Next you'll be saying she's into bondage, too - oh, god."

He groaned and held his face in his hands. Sirius almost fell off the bed from laughing.

"I'd better get back to my other patients," he said regretfully, looking over at Lily, who was currently berating a nurse for complimenting her on her boots whilst trying to convince her to take them off. Peter had, yet again, been restrained to his bed.

"Oh, have fun. Don't forget about little old me while you're having fun with the vomiting and such," Remus told him cheerfully, propping up his pillows and reopening 1984.

"I won't," Sirius promised with a sincere smile. He stood up, squared his shoulders, and approached the pregnant red-headed woman in pain.

Why wasn't a question that had crossed his mind yet.

"Lily, dearest," he drawled, leaning against the heart monitor that beeped at him warningly. Dorcas, the nurse present, retreated hastily with a muttered goodbye and an extremely audible sigh of relief. Lily, though dressed in her hospital gown, crossed her combat-boot-covered ankles.

"Your point?" She growled.

"It's for health and safety, you know," Sirius told her seriously, eyeing the boots with mistrust. God knows how many bacteria she had tracked in with them.

"I realise that," Lily snapped, sitting up straighter. "I just don't appreciate being treated like a criminal because I'm single, knocked up, and my boots are the most comfortable shoes that support my ankles now, because apparently they have doubled in size and don't appreciate stilettos!"

She then paled.

Reacting on instinct, Sirius grabbed one of the cardboard-like bowls and shoved it towards her, holding back her red hair with practised ease as she grabbed it with the one hand that wasn't in a sling.

"Bet you've done this for your girlfriend a fair few times," Lily groaned. She wiped her mouth with the tissue Sirius handed her. "I'm sorry. The baby's winding me up and my head is pounding like a bitch."

"It's no problem at all; it's my job, isn't it? And nope, not a girlfriend," Sirius told her with a smile, passing the bowl to the hovering nurse - a new one this time, Nurse Karen McKinnon, or was it Kristy? - and handing Lily a glass of water.

"Boyfriend, then?" She asked with an evil smirk and a lift of an eyebrow that Sirius was sure Minerva had taught her.

He snorted. "Touché."

"I'm right, then? I'd brag about my gay-dar, but it's practically non-existent. My last boyfriend was gay. Ran off with a forty-year old Latino called Perez, the day I moved in."

"Ouch," Sirius winced, knowing exactly what it felt like to be abandoned for the opposite sex. "And yes, you were right. But don't tell the nurses; it'll break their hearts. They're convinced I'm a lothario heartthrob who's playing hard to get." He shook his head solemnly. "I don't have it in me to let them down."

Lily laughed, and patted the bed. "Sit down, Mr Gay Lothario Doctor. You can spare time for a dying woman in her last moments."

Sirius rolled his eyes, sitting down on the edge and surreptitiously skimming over his notes - her vitals seemed good, and her head injury wasn't serious. "You're not dying, Lily."

"Tell it to this one!" She said, energetically gesturing to her stomach. "Ooh, these mood swings. Seriously. Also, I could do with a hamburger. Actually, skip the burger. Just give me a cow."

"What's the situation, then?" Sirius asked, earning himself a classic death glare. He held his hands up in surrender. "Just curious."

Lily sighed. "Fine. Five-night stand; barely constituted a relationship, if you ask me. He was quite the looker, if he put his mind to it; a genius in science, but not much else. Buggered off quickly after realizing I wasn't just going to be his "bit on the side". Bloody stuck-up bastard, could barely see through his own ar-"

"He sounds perfectly lovely," he interrupted, mindful of the other patients on the ward. "And family?"

"One sister," Lily offered tightly. "We don't talk much. She didn't approve of many of my life choices; going into journalism, for one. Staying out of the kitchen, for another."

"Sounds like just another one of your standard bastards, if you ask me. You're much too good for the likes you hang around with Lily; what went wrong?" Sirius asked jokingly, smiling at her kindly. Her heart rate had increased slightly, the beeps closer together.

"It's the hair. It puts people off. And I just naturally attract bastards."

Sirius laughed appraisingly. "Well, if you say so-"

"DAMMIT!"

He turned round, looking past Peter (untied, now, and eating one of their famous pots of Jell-O) and finding James sprawled on the cool hospital tiled, his wheelchair tipped over beside him. Sirius swore under his breath, and stood up quickly.

"What? What's happened?" Lily asked frantically, trying to peer past Sirius. He waved her off.

"Shit," he muttered. "Lily, I'm sorry, I've got to-" He rushed away, to James' side. "Okay, calm down, James. Just breathe. It's shock, you've taken a nasty fall. Nurse McKinnon, can you help us please? Where the hell is Nurse Meadowes?"

"I don't know," Kristy or Karen said, picking up the fallen wheelchair and hurriedly sorting out the bed covers.

"Right, careful..." Sirius one arm round James' shoulder, scooping him up and being mindful of the bandages still tied around his middle. "Almost there, James, you're doing fine..."

James shook his head weakly as he was placed on the bed. He was shaking and breathing heavily - he'd probably taken out a few of his stitches and bruised his spine, maybe even knocked it out of place. Sirius pressed a few careful fingers to his abdomen.

James hissed from the pain, but didn't scream from agony, which he would have done if he'd knocked his spine even further. Sirius sighed in relief.

"I think we've just got a bit of bruising, so we're going to re-do the bandages, alright?" He nodded feebly. "What were you thinking, James? You know you're not strong enough to get into the wheelchair by yourself yet, at least not for today, and even if you were lucky, you wouldn't get far without physical therapy."

"I feel useless just sitting here," James muttered. "I know you said I had to wait, but I couldn't. I'm not used to just sitting here."

Sirius nodded, understanding him completely.

"You're not going to be able to just wheel out of this hospital as soon as you get the thumbs up, you know. It's going to hard. You'll need someone to wheel you, at least for the first few weeks, and you'll have to have physical therapy, probably for six months or more. Wheelchair basketball could be in the future, yeah, but not the near future. Okay?"

"I do understand, Doc, it's just that... I don't know. I thought I'd be able to do something, as soon as I get out of this bed. Not the case, huh?" James asked, sighing.

"As I said: we'll get past it. Just no getting out without assistance, okay? Ask Nurse McKinnon, or Nurse Meadowes, if she ever gets back from her break."

Sirius looked around, but didn't see any dyed blonde hair.

"Excuse me?"

Both of their heads whipped round in unison. Lily was seated there in her own wheelchair, in all her pregnant, red-headed glory, barefooted in her hospital gown and cradling her arm. She was smiling.

"I just wanted to check you were alright. I heard the commotion from my end." Sirius stared at her; where was cursing, fire-cracker Lily Evans? And who was this? "I'm Lily Evans. Pleasure to meet you." She stretched out her good hand. James smiled back.

"Why, hello," he purred, as though he didn't just have a minor panic attack, and Lily laughed, rolling her eyes. "James Potter. The pleasure's all yours."

"Oh," she said, looking at Sirius with a mischief in her eyes that made him want to turn tail and run. He was suddenly thankful he never had to sleep with women; god, were they devious. "It looks like we've got a live one, Doctor."

She wiggled her eyebrows, and Sirius thought about her previous comment - "I just naturally attract bastards."

He stifled a laugh.

"If you're going to stay here for a bit, Lily, you can make sure he doesn't make another great escape. Alright?" He looked between them. "I'll be back in a bit, check up on both of you." Sirius smiled and gave them a shaky, but cheery, wave.

He secretly reckoned they were both just a little bit mad.

Sirius tapped Nurse McKinnon on the shoulder. She was eating a bagel; Minerva hadn't picked on her for having food on the ward. "Are you sure you haven't seen Nurse Meadowes?" He huffed.

"No, Sirius, I haven't. She's probably still on her break."

He sighed, and picked up his clipboard, resting against the nurse's station desk. It was all looking okay so far; he'd probably end up dropping in on Frank in a minute.

"Well, aren't they just your classic Romeo and Juliet," a voice said cheekily from behind him. Sirius whipped around to find Remus leaning against the counter, watching James and Lily with wry amusement. At least he didn't have shoes on this time.

"They've only just met," Sirius replied back, though it seemed that James was one of the better bastards that Lily had drawn to her.

"Exactly. What did you think the story of Romeo and Juliet was? Love at first sight, and all that," he said, waving a hand in their direction.

"Should you even be out of bed? You're braving the tigress." He smoothed down his suit jacket, pulling his white coat tighter around his shoulders. He tapped a rhythm against his knee as he observed the ward. His side was mainly silent, with James and Lily muttering in hushed tones and Peter dozing off, and Remus, leaning next to him.

"Lioness," Remus corrected idly, tracing a pattern on the counter top.

He was holding 1984 in his other hand.

"Can I look?"

He hugged it closer, and shook his head. "Later, maybe. I'm making it kind of like a memoir. Each chapter is a new chapter in my life." Sirius gave him a look. "Sappy, I know, but it's better than writing Dear Diary." However, he shook his head, and held out one yellowing page.

The little 9 at the top, marking the start of the chapter, was underlined twice, and above it was written, simply, Jell-O in curving, shaking italics.

Above the words 'Hate Week' was written lion.

And the doodle that Sirius had seen him drawing earlier was a little, artistic face drawn in biro, with long, dark hair and eyes with more detail that should have been allowed in such a small work of art, and a long nose and strong jaw -

It was him.

Sirius blinked a few times. Oh.

"It's good," he said, vaguely stroking the fraying paper. "It's really good. You ever think of being an artist?"

"Considered it," Remus muttered, and he took back the offered book. He held it carefully, like one would with a prized possession. "I decided not to, in the end. Too many commissions." He shivered. "I don't know what I want to do yet. I took English Language at Uni - 'til I had to leave, that is. Because of 'medical reasons.'" He sighed. "Wouldn't have minded writing, I have to say."

"Still the chance," Sirius assured him. He pointed to a few lines, cluttered and cramped in the margin. "That's inspired. 'If the human race is known for one thing, and one thing alone, it is that we always fall for the tragic and beautiful. This is why martyrs die young and beauty fades under the hardships of war and love. The human race is contradictory, and imperfect, and we'll never be anything else.' I like that."

"Just a few thoughts," Remus waved off the praise, but his ears had started to glow.

Sirius sighed as he spotted Nurse Meadowes appear at the other side of the ward, where one of the residents - Doctor Longbottom, though everyone called him Turnip because no normal head was that shape - was doing rounds.

"Now, you get back into bed, mister," Sirius warned him. "Minnie will eat you. Starting feet first."

"Gotcha," Remus promised, and he shuffled back to his little bed area, waving at James and Lily as he walked past, whose eyes followed him, bewildered.

Sirius had the impression that Remus made a lot of people feel that way.

"Nurse Meadowes," he called, and she turned around. He gestured for her to come over, but met her halfway anyway. He leant in close. "Dorcas, where have you been for the past hour? Your break's fifteen minutes; you know that."

"I know, Sirius," Dorcas sighed. "I just-" She rolled up her sleeve, showing him two nicotine patches. "Trying to quit. Spent the first forty-five minutes forgetting that, then the last fifteen attempting to get rid of my stash."

"It is just cigarettes, isn't it?" Sirius asked, concerned. He'd seen this before, on patients attempting to quite pain killers and such cold turkey, usually reverting to other substances. And overdosing.

"Of course!" She snapped.

"Right, right," he assured her, taking a step back. She took a few deep breaths. "I'm just concerned. It's not like you, Dorcas, and you know it." She nodded, her gaze becoming less focussed on him and more on the wall behind. "Well, if you're sure you're alright..." He gave her a last dubious look, then walk to the other side of the ward where Peter was waking up.

"Pete! How are we feeling?"

"Like I got run over," the patient under the blankets replied in a monotone. Mousy blonde hair appeared on the pillow, and blue eyes popped up, staring at Sirius.

"Well, I suppose that's a good sign. You definitely haven't lost your memory," Sirius replied with a chuckle, checking the heart monitor. It was a bit slower than usual, but that was probably the morphine wearing off. "Just doing routine checks, and you seem as healthy as expected."

"Have you asked the police about my camera?" Peter asked timidly, sitting up properly and looking Sirius in the eyes.

"Not yet, Pete. I promise I'll do it by lunch, okay?"

"Sure thing," he muttered. He looked over at James and Lily. "They seem to be hitting it off."

Sirius tilted his head, as though trying to see the scene from a different angle. Lily was currently hitting James with her combat boot. Young love at its finest, his inner voice sighed, but he shooed it away and turned back to Peter.

"Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Oh, yeah! You should see the wedding pictures I've taken. The bride is always hitting the groom in at least one, but they'll have kissed and made up by the next three or so."

"Huh," Sirius said. "Can't say I understand women myself." Or that I want to...

"Me neither, Sirius," Peter agreed, nodding sagely as though this was an extremely wise observation. "Me neither."


End file.
